


The future is before us, hovering 50 feet above the dog park.

by orphan_account



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 14:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18075416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I try and make an episode of WTNV.





	1. The future is before us

The future is before us, hovering 50 feet above the dog park. It speaks in a high-pitched whistle so high-pitched that you have to strain to hear it, before it disappears like a whisper you thought you once heard in the night. The future is spinning slowly and rhythmically. Its unblinking eyes bore down on you as its unmoving mouth predicts—in accurate detail—your fate. Something about a man in a tan jacket carrying a deerskin suitcase. But surely you don’t know what it means, right? Right? Because if you did, the sheriff's secret police would take you away to an undisclosed location and do unthinkable things. No one who has been taken by the secret police has been seen again. Sure, we get the feeling of unease as though someone is watching us from time to time, but of course that’s not the spirits of victims of the sheriff’s secret police’s abject torture. No siree.   
Nightvale residents have swarmed the dog park, and managed to do so without ever looking directly at the dog park, which we all know is illegal and forbidden. They instead keep their eyes on the future as they ask questions like:  
“Who will I marry?”  
“What kind of donut will I eat this Tuesday?”  
“When will I die?” followed quickly by,“How many axe murderers will stab me?”  
“Do pineapples exist, and will I eat one?”, and “How will I fall asleep tonight?”  
The future showed us just how much we don’t know, and the amount of knowledge the omniscient future does know. How much do we know? We know enough to survive, but for how long? How long until we don’t know anymore? Will we ever reach that point? I don’t know. No one knows. Only the future knows.  
More updates to come as this story progresses.


	2. In the meantime,

There has been a change in scheduling... let me see here....it reads: the city council has announced that it will not share one of its haikus as planned because “if you were to hear our poetry, it would kill you. And no, we’re not talking about dying out of the sheer awesomeness of our work, our poems would literally kill you and everyone within a fifty mile radius of Nightvale.” Good to know, station management! So instead we’ve reached out to our wonderful community of listeners for their own poetry pieces. Now, without further ado, here is our first haiku titled: I wrote this while sleepwalking by John Peters ( you know, the farmer?)

Vigorous jazz hands  
An aggressive potato  
Steam-spitting turtles

Excellent poem, John! Our next haiku has been submitted by Samantha Green. Nobody knows where she lives. It’s called: Hot air balloons, don’t kill me while I sleep

Hot air balloons don’t  
Murder me in deep slumber  
Prohibere prohibere

Wow, fabulous! Thank you Samantha. Finally, our third haiku has been submitted by...me. It’s called Carlos.

My dearest husband  
How I love you so with your  
Teeth like a military cemetery

That was not a haiku but that does not matter. It was a sign of my love to my dear, dear husband, and that is what matters. See you tonight when I get home, sweetie! Hope you’re having a good day at work. Talking about Carlos, did you know we started our garden this Saturday? We began with spreading a layer of squashed turtle eyeballs onto the dirt, which we were told was an excellent fertilizer by the salesperson at the Home Depot. She claimed to have tried it herself, and with it had grown squashes the size of baby orca whales. She even showed us pictures on her phone, and boy were they huge! Giant! Pretty impressive for squashes, I must say, but definitely not the size of those of John Peters (y’know, the farmer?) because we all know how big those squashes get. Anyways, listeners, Carlos and I got tomatoes and basil and mint and thyme and sweetpeas. And they’re all wonderful. So, if you’re starting a garden, go to your local Home Depot and ask for Cheryll.


End file.
